


You Make Me Crescendo (I'm Going Up)

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Dubious Behavioral Science Nonsense, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, PWP, canon typical homophobia, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 19:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20102347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: “Will you put some god damn clothes on?”Holden’s lips twitch but he doesn’t quite smile—which is good, because Bill is still leaning towards punching him. “I’m testing a theory.”-Or, Holden wears women's underwear and Bill is...affected.





	You Make Me Crescendo (I'm Going Up)

**Author's Note:**

> here I am delivering porn to this fandom, as is my specialty, with a side of internalized homophobia and general shame, along with dubiously accurate behavioral science analysis. it's Holden in lingerie, who needs accuracy here? not me!
> 
> Big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing even though she hasn't watched the show yet! 
> 
> Enjoy!

“What the _fuck_ are you wearing?”

Holden doesn’t whip around to face him; he doesn’t look especially scandalized at all, in fact, which only makes Bill’s blood pressure tick up higher. First, he walks into the shared motel room to find his coworker scantily clad in fire truck engine red women’s underwear. Then, the bizarre cherry on top is how Holden appears entirely unrepentant about it, as if this is a normal thing for Bill to walk in on. Bill is so caught up in his irritation and rising blood pressure he almost misses Holden snippily saying, “You could’ve knocked.” 

“It’s my damn room too,” Bill replies shortly. 

Holden nods as if to concede the point.

“Will you put some god damn clothes on?”

Holden’s lips twitch but he doesn’t quite smile—which is good, because Bill is still leaning towards punching him. “I’m testing a theory.”

“A theory.”

“Yes.” Holden’s reply is patient as if he’s expecting Bill to piece it together. 

Except Bill is feeling increasingly distracted by the frankly alarming expanse of pale skin on display, and even more distracted by the shocks of red that hug Holden’s nonexistent breasts and cling to his package obscenely. Bill is trying not to stare, but it’s a small motel room, and there’s only so much else to look at. It’s quickly beginning to feel like Holden takes up more space than he actually occupies. 

“Spit it out already,” Bill says, just as voices pipe up down the hall. It’s then that he realizes he’s still standing in the doorway of the motel room, and that anyone could walk by and see Holden all trussed up like this. Bill steps forward so quick he trips over himself, and slams the door shut with a loud _THUD_. When he gets his footing again, heart racing, he finds Holden has finally given in to his usual smirk. 

Holden doesn’t comment on Bill’s flustered behavior. “I’m trying to get in the mind of our unsub,” he says, like it’s obvious. 

Which, as soon as Bill’s brain catches up with the words, it _is_ obvious. Their perp is a young man, probably mid-twenties to mid-thirties, who likes to steal—and then wear—women’s undergarments, lying in wait to sneak up on his victims in their homes. So of course, Holden thought the best way to get in the perp’s head would be to go out, buy some frilly, lacy get up, and parade around the motel room. 

“Uh huh,” is Bill’s stilted reply. He forces himself to walk deeper into the motel room and drape his suit jacket over the desk chair closest to him. He beelines for his bed and sits with most of his back to Holden, though he can feel the other man’s gaze burning holes in his skin like laser beams. 

The silence is stifling, especially since Holden doesn’t seem inclined to do anything but stand in place, one hip cocked out and hands idly toying with the lacy hem of the lingerie. Bill allows himself to watch from the corner of his eye, even though he knows that Holden is well aware of Bill’s staring. 

The thing looks cheap, flimsy, meant to be...ripped off, or at the very least shoved aside. It’s not even especially pretty, except for the way red contrasts milky white and—

“You figure anything out?” Bill grunts. It takes more effort than he’d care to admit to get the words out.

Holden hums. “It’s not especially comfortable, and it’s very revealing. I don’t think he uses it as a sense of armor or empowerment, unless he enjoys being exposed like this but I find that unlikely. We know he’s shy, and while some perps might find power in the sort of vulnerability this offers, I don’t think our guy does.”

Bill nods and finally looks away to dig a cigarette out of the pack on the bedside table, grabbing his lighter from his slacks pocket. He takes a long inhale and relishes the feeling of nicotine hitting his senses; when he finally allows himself to look back at Holden, he’s rewarded with the other man wrinkling his nose in distaste, as he always does.

Maybe it’s that moment of normalcy amidst the madness of this situation, but Bill finds himself slipping into the same analytical mode he does whenever Holden is running through theories. “It’s probably sexual then, if it’s not an armor. Gratification of the theft, the deviancy.” A pause, deliberate and not, just like the way Bill not-so-accidentally rakes his gaze down Holden’s form again. 

“Possible,” Holden allows. He sounds unconvinced. 

“What else would it be? He’s a man parading around in women’s underwear, there can only be so many reasons for that. Sexual gratification makes sense.”

“Do I look aroused to you, Bill?” Holden asks and even though Bill was half-expecting it, his brain still short-circuits for a moment. Like a television in a windstorm, his thoughts go staticky. He blinks, and somehow finds it in himself to respond—but not before noticing the way Holden’s dick definitely twitches in the red lace panties. 

“You’re not going around murdering people, Holden. You’re not the same as our unsub.” Bill looks away again. He flicks ash off the end of his cigarette into the tray before bringing it back for another drag. “Did you really think this was going to help?” He asks as a sudden pulse of annoyance beats in time with his heart.

All at once, Bill is angry, annoyed, irritated; there’s a million and one words for how Bill feels at this moment and all he can pin down in his sudden flurry of thoughts is that it’s all Holden’s fault. Dressing up like some tramp on a corner, all he’s missing is some makeup. Powder for his nose and lipstick for his stupid, snarking mouth. 

“I find it helpful,” Holden replies in a tone clearly meant to rile Bill up more. 

He hates that it works. Bill smokes angrily for a few moments before stubbing his cigarette out in the tray with more force than maybe necessary. He refuses to face Holden, though, determined to keep some level of his composure. “Would’ve booked separate rooms if I knew you were going to pull this shit.”

Holden doesn’t let him hide for long, not even when he’s hiding in plain sight. Holden strides around to stand in front of Bill. Even though he keeps his gaze lowered, Bill can still see Holden’s legs: long, pale, dusted in fine blond hair. Bill, for a crazed moment, wonders if Holden would ever shave his legs, for that full effect. His thoughts momentarily derail to whether or not the unsub would do it, but Holden clearing his throat drags all of Bill’s attention back to him. 

Except Holden doesn’t speak. He simply stares intently at Bill. 

So Bill speaks, instead. “Is it jealousy?”

Holden raises an eyebrow. 

“What if he wants to be the women, so he steals their most personal garments?” Bill is staring intently at the wall just behind Holden; it’s the last bit of cowardice he can hold onto. “What if the undergarments aren’t the only trophies being taken?”

Thankfully, despite the near predatory look on Holden’s face, he follows Bill’s train of thought. “Things like makeup, jewelry maybe.”

“Shaving cream, or razors. Small things.”

“Easy to miss,” Holden agrees. It’s like a switch has flipped and he’s striding away, back to his own single bed to rifle through some files. Since his back is turned, Bill grants himself a chance to look.

Except, despite all this time spent in the room so far, Bill had somehow not yet caught sight of Holden’s ass in panties. The draped part of the chemise doesn’t hang as low in the back and Holden bending over his files isn’t helping. Bill is treated to a front row seat of Holden’s ass, toned from consistent workouts, cupped by thin scraps of red lace. It’s downright obscene, and Bill swallows dryly, throat clicking. 

Bill feels _mesmerized_, and then immediately ashamed of the feeling. But he can’t tear his eyes away: Holden’s ass is blemish free and pert and Bill’s ears are burning hot enough to cook an egg. Holden shifts from foot to foot as he rifles through the folders until he finally stands up straight again, and the chemise covers more of his cheeks. 

“Christ,” Bill hisses softly. 

Holden doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s thumbing through a folder now and he finally turns, starts to pace. He’s biting at his bottom lip, stopping only to murmur to himself. Bill can’t look away, now that he’s graced with a profile of Holden’s body.

From the side, he looks more lithe and manlier at the same time. The breadth of his shoulders seems narrow from his angle, and the taper of his waist is sharp; in contrast, his cock bulges against the panties and, Bill breathes deeply, he can see a hint of skin—Holden’s sac. 

“We should definitely take this to local PD tomorrow, see if we can come up with anything else, identify things that were stolen or used.” 

“Will you be parading in your latest purchase to present this information?” The words are out of Bill’s mouth before he can think better of them. 

Holden stops abruptly in his pacing. He closes the file and looks over at Bill. “Should I?” He asks, smirking again. 

Bill feels his face flush; he feels caught, red-handed, sneaking into a cookie jar. Or something. His head is buzzing with too many thoughts. 

Holden tosses the folder back to his bed and it skids haphazardly across the rest of the files and photos. “I don’t think it’s quite office appropriate.” He tugs at the sheer fabric hanging over his chest and around his hips. 

To anyone else it might seem like a self-conscious gesture. Bill sees it for what it is: an invitation. One he’s not sure he’s ready to take. 

Holden approaches him slowly but he moves fluidly, confidently into Bill’s lap. It’s sudden and startling and Bill’s hands snap to Holden’s hips immediately. Holden’s grin is brief but, for once, it’s genuine. Soft, even. 

Bill can’t help but stare up at Holden’s face and finds the man searching his expression, too. He doesn’t know what Holden is looking for, and he doesn’t know if Holden finds it. Neither of them moves. 

“Interesting,” Holden says. 

“What’s interesting?” 

Holden tilts his head. Says as though it’s obvious, “You.” Holden doesn’t elaborate before he’s slipping off of Bill’s lap, out of his grasp, back to his bed. 

Bill’s earlier annoyance resurfaces with a vengeance and he’s up off the bed, stalking towards Holden, in the blink of an eye. Even worse, Holden seems to be expecting it, because he turns to face Bill without an ounce of fear in his eyes. He’s not smirking, his arms aren’t crossed. For once, there’s no air of superiority around him and for whatever reason, it makes Bill angrier than he’s ever been staring at Holden’s stupid, beautiful face. 

Holden doesn’t seem surprised when Bill charges the last few steps closer, or when Bill takes him by the hips and brings their bodies together, or when Bill ducks his head and kisses Holden hard on the mouth. Holden winds his arms around Bill’s shoulders and presses up on his toes to get closer and Bill growls against his lips. 

“You’re fucking infuriating,” Bill hisses as the kiss breaks. He kisses Holden again so he doesn’t have to hear his response, because it’ll likely only aggravate him further. He pushes Holden back by the grip on his waist but remembers at the last second the folders strewn across Holden’s bed. 

Sharply, he turns them and shoves Holden toward his own bed. Holden goes stumbling back and ends up tripping over a shoe; he lands on his back, legs spread invitingly. As Bill stalks closer, Holden scrambles up the bed to rest his head on the pillows. His chest is already heaving and the chiffon fabric splits across his chest, framing the light chisel of his abs. Bill’s mouth waters and he’s at once addicted to the feeling and disgusted with himself. 

Holden’s hands fidget at his sides. He fiddles with the chemise again, then toys with the waistband of the panties. 

“Stop it,” Bill snaps. Holden’s hands hit the bed again, curling in the blanket. “God, you…” 

“Me,” Holden echoes. Then, when Bill says nothing else, he adds, “There’s lube in the bag.”

“Fucking Christ, Holden.” Even so, Bill follows where Holden points to, his suitcase abandoned on the other side of the room. It doesn’t take him long to find the modest-sized tube and he curls his fingers around it, glaring at it. His cock is hard in his slacks and his hands are shaking uncomfortably with rage. When he looks back at Holden on the bed, waiting for him, he’s filled with the most confusing combination of lust and anger. 

“Bill,” Holden says. “Come here.”

Despite his annoyance at being told what to do, he returns to the bed. He tosses the tube to Holden and barks, “Do it,” before starting to strip. He makes quick work of his button-down and the clingy undershirt, then comes his belt and slacks. He hesitates a moment before pulling off his socks as well, feeling strangely self-conscious as he straightens up again. He hasn’t been so brazen with another person in a long time, certainly not with Nancy, who loves him but who has always had a low sex drive and has always enjoyed the lights being low. 

Here and now, with the overhead lights and bedside lamps on, Bill feels as though he’s under a spotlight. Then he finally looks at Holden again, and all the nonsense about feeling on display flies right out the window, because how Bill feels is hardly _anything_ compared to how Holden looks. 

He’s left the lingerie on, even to get himself ready. He’s holding the panties aside with his left hand and thrusting two fingers inside himself with his right. His mouth is open, wet and gasping, and his eyes are fluttering as if he can’t bear to keep them open. He looks like a whore, flushed pink all over. 

“Bill,” Holden moans. There’s no other word for it and there’s nothing coy about his tone. He’s not teasing or goading or riling Bill up. Rather, he’s open and wanton and entirely Bill’s for the taking. 

“Are you good? Bill asks as he pushes Holden’s legs further apart. 

“Yes,” Holden says. He pulls his fingers out with a squelch that excites Bill as much as it unsettles him. He still holds the panties aside to keep himself exposed. 

For a moment, Bill considers rolling Holden to his front so he doesn’t have to see the other man’s face, but then Holden arches his back and bites his bottom lip and it’s so pornographic, Bill decides he can’t let it go to waste. He shuffles forward on his knees and takes his cock by the base; Holden holds himself open and ready and only inhales sharply as the head of Bill’s cock breaches him. 

Holden’s eyes slam shut and his breathing skips and catches. Bill moves slowly, despite the perfect heat encasing his erection and how badly he wants to chase that pleasure. He moves slow and sure, relentless but not cruel, and Holden opens up for him inch by inch. 

Holden’s hands finally unclench from the blanket and find purchase on Bill’s shoulders instead. His nails bite into Bill’s skin and surely leave little red welts behind, but Bill finds he doesn’t mind. The slight pain spurs him on and his hips jerk forward the last bit, fitting him snugly deep inside Holden.

Then, Bill stops. The sensations are overwhelming. At once, it’s familiar and not. It’s hot, wet heat clutching Bill’s cock, but it’s so much tighter than any woman he’s ever been with. Holden’s body under him is pliant and willing but all firm muscle where Nancy is soft, hair still light but thicker than Bill is used to. It’s an assault on his senses and overwhelming and he distracts himself by starting to thrust.

A choked noise spills from Holden’s throat as Bill pulls out and slams in again, and again, and again. Holden gets a hand on the nape of Bill’s neck and tugs at the short, sweaty hairs there. It takes a moment for Bill to realize Holden is trying to tug him closer.

Bill tips forward and braces himself with an elbow on the bed, but before he can ask what Holden wants, he’s got a mouthful of the other man, a messy kiss. It’s sloppy and unrefined and Bill groans deeply. Holden answers him with a gentle whine. 

“Bill, Bill, Bill,” Holden pants, hips thrusting up and grinding against Bill’s stomach. It’s wet, Bill can feel the way Holden’s cock is leaking, probably staining the panties beyond repair. “Yes, Bill, _yes_.” 

Bill kisses him again to shut him up. He gets one hand on Holden’s hip and slides the other under the thin chiffon, up and up until he can brush his thumb over Holden’s nipple. He’s rewarded with Holden jolting like he’s been shocked and a pitchy cry escaping into the kiss. 

“Bill,” Holden moans against his lips. 

“Yeah,” Bill answers nonsensically. His thrusts are still quick but he’s losing his rhythm; he’s almost embarrassingly close to coming but he thinks that maybe Holden is too, with the way he’s twitching and whining. He clutches Holden’s hip tighter—maybe even hard enough to bruise—as his orgasm starts to crest. “Fuck, Holden.”

“Yes,” Holden gasps. “Yes, _Bill_.” 

Holden hitches one leg over Bill’s waist and it draws him in incrementally closer. Bill’s not sure what happens but Holden lets out a wail, tugs sharply at Bill’s hair, and then there’s a warm wetness between their bodies. It’s filthy, downright obscene knowing that Holden has just come in the little red panties like a common slut, and it tips Bill over the edge as well.

Holden shivers as Bill comes deep inside him. When Bill goes slack against him, Holden curls around him, clinging, nuzzling at him. Bill allows it for a moment, just long enough to catch his breath. Once his heart rate has slowed enough that it no longer feels like his heart will hammer out of his chest, Bill sits up and leans back. His softened cock slips from Holden and come leaks sluggishly after. Holden shivers again. 

“I’m going to shower.” Bill slips off the bed but doesn’t go further than that. Holden is staring at him, intense as ever. “You should, too.”

“After?” Holden retorts, voice bright and wicked. “Or is that an invitation?” 

Bill isn’t sure which he wants. Shame is coiling in his gut now that there’s no pleasure or adrenaline to distract him. He’s crashing hard, and he feels suddenly sick to his stomach. Not only for cheating on his wife, but with a man even. It’s not something he ever saw for himself—but in the back of his mind, deep in his thoughts, he knows undeniably that it was _good_, better than most other sex he’s had. 

Holden shoos him away with a flapping hand. “Go.” 

Bill escapes to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth but swears he can still taste Holden after. He makes his shower as long as it can be without using all the hot water and realizes, as he wraps a towel around his waist, that he neglected to bring his pajamas into the bathroom with him. 

Holden is clearing off his own bed when Bill slips out of the bedroom, and doesn’t acknowledge Bill. By the time Bill’s stepping into his pajama pants and worn t-shirt, Holden has made his way into the bathroom. Bill climbs into his bed as the shower runs and tries to ignore how the sheets and blankets smell like sex and Holden and come. It doesn’t take long for the shower to stop, and for an insane moment Bill half expects to walk out naked. 

He doesn’t. He’s in pajamas as well, some sort of faded graphic tee and raggedy sleep pants. The lingerie is somehow not in his arms. He detours near the motel room door to flick off the overhead lights, and then turns off the bedside lamp nearest his bed. He climbs under the covers, and Bill envies that he’s got clean sheets. Silence blooms in the almost-darkness, and Bill’s thoughts are spiraling. They need to talk about this; Holden will _want_ to talk about this, either to dissect it or to label it or _something_. Bill very much does not want to talk about it—he feels sick again, and seriously considers getting out of bed to head for the bathroom. 

Bill reaches out to turn off his bedside lamp, just for something to do, when—

“Goodnight, Bill,” Holden says simply. 

Bill hesitates only momentarily before replying, “Yeah. G’night, Holden.” 

**Author's Note:**

> title is from lingerie by lizzo bc lol


End file.
